


death at your doorstep, life at your heels

by ghoulgf



Category: Persona 5
Genre: (an extremely healthy mix of them), (in a very understated way), Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Pining, References to Depression, akira is basically a reaper of sorts but also emotionally constipated, the character death is not what ur thinking i promise, this is a very obscure au but its good i swear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:55:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26119156
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghoulgf/pseuds/ghoulgf
Summary: Akira Kurusu’s existence is lonely. Then again, what other way could it be for Tokyo’s Soul Keeper? He’s become desensitized to the rinse-and-repeat days of venturing out into Tokyo to help recently deceased souls pass on and then returning to The Middle to talk to any that still aren’t quite ready to move on. Sometimes, he’ll eat at a restaurant or watch a movie, but never with other people. If there’s anything this job (and Igor and Lavenza’s long lectures) have taught him, it’s that human life is fleeting, and he is not. The prospect of befriending someone will he surely outlive and having to pass them on himself has kept him from forming any meaningful connections.A chance encounter outside of a coffee shop changes all of that.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Amamiya Ren, Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Akechi Goro/Persona 5 Protagonist
Comments: 14
Kudos: 55





	death at your doorstep, life at your heels

**Author's Note:**

> this is only my 2nd akeshu fic but i think we can all agree i just like writing super random aus. this one in particular hit me like a semi truck while i was watching chungking express for my other fic (which u should totally read ;)) hehe) bc the theme of how chance encounters with strangers can forever shift your life and the transient nature of connection really did it for me. and i just included fantasy elements bc i think persona 5 needs more niche fantasy aus
> 
> this is an almost entirely different interpretation of akira (he is sadder) than my other fic so i hope this is ok LMAO.. persona protagonists help everyone but themselves and i think that’s sad

This never gets easier.

Akira grimaces as the yellow police tape comes into view. It's a warning to stay away because something here is very, very wrong. Most people would heed this warning. Except he isn't most people, and he isn't even sure if he could be considered part of the term "people." Just like other people, his stomach drops whenever he comes across a scene like this one, and he wants to look away. Unlike them, though, he has to look. His duty forces him to not only look at it but to cross that line and live it himself.

He ducks under the tape and with his invisibility glamour in effect, the two nearby police officers wearing dark expressions don't notice him walking through the open front door. Another officer comes down the hallway. Akira presses himself to the wall, making sure the officer doesn't do so much as brush against him. 

He walks down the hallway into the living room, where there are family photos galore on the walls; the one Akira notices is a professional portrait of a young girl posing in a tutu and a bun that looks too tight to not hurt like hell. The coffee table is occupied by an open coloring book, littered crayons, and fallen red petals from the vase of fresh roses. A blanket is draped across the leather couch, looking as if someone was just using it. 

There was a home in this space. Comfort. Family. Love.

Akira turns away.  _ Move on. _

In the kitchen, the silence is punctuated by sniffles and quiet sobs. 

This is where he finds her: huddled into an empty space between a houseplant and the kitchen counters. The girl hugs her knees, squeezing them even tighter when she sees him approach. Her eyes widen, and she tries to lean further back into the wall. When she can't, she turns her body to the side and shuts her eyes.

Akira crouches down in front of her.

_ No one can hurt you now, _ he thinks, observing the translucence of her body and the pale blue glow emanating from it.  _ No one can hold you now. _

"Hi," he says, keeping his voice low. "I'm here to help you."

She stays frozen. Like she's trying to will herself to disappear.

He takes a seat, cross-legged. "I'm not going to hurt you."

No response.

Akira falls silent and still.

Eventually, the girl—still tense—opens her eyes and turns her head to look at him.

She's trembling.

"Hello." He smiles at her. "What's your name?"

She only sniffles in response. Despite the snot trailing down her nose, her arms continue to cling to herself.

"My name is Akira," he offers. "Do you like to dance?"

She nods once.

"Dancing is really fun, right?"

Another nod.

"When do you dance?" 

Her mouth moves but he can't make out her answer.

"Did you say Monday?" He is careful not to sound too forceful; he can see that the trembling has slowed.

She shakes her head. "W-Wednesday," she manages, "and... Friday... Sunday... a-and, um, Thursday."

"Four days a week!" He stares at her in bewilderment. "That's a lot. And you're so young."

She glares at him (though a little girl with chubby cheeks and long pigtails tied with yellow ribbon can only be so frightening). "I... I'm not a kid. I'm eight already!" She furiously wipes at her nose and eyes.

"Oh, wow, sorry. You're a big girl now, huh?" Akira leans back, placing his hands on the ground behind him for support.

"I've even won some competitions too." She sits up straighter. "Mommy still has to hang up the medals."

"You've got a lot going for you, little miss."

The girl's shoulders relax. "Yeah. Mommy wanted to dance when she was little, but she never did. That's why I want to do it to make her proud." 

"I wonder, with all that, if you can balance school too."

Her nod is more vigorous. "I do very good in school. My teacher says I'm very pre... pre..." Her noses scrunches up. "pre-coh-shush."

"You're very hardworking. Good on you!" He raises one hand to her.

She flinches at first. When Akira doesn't move his hand any closer, she tentatively taps her own hand against his before retreating to hold herself again.

"Thank you, Mister Akira." She rests her chin on top of her knees. 

"Don't lose that fire, little miss. It will do you good in the long run." He can feel it, the guilt emerging from the pits of his belly and tossing about to let him know it's arisen once more. 

_ This is the only way, _ the Soul Keeper in him says.

_ It's a terrible way, _ echoes off the walls of his stomach.

Her hold around her legs slackens. "I'm not 'little miss'. I'm Akemi."

"That's a pretty name." He uncrosses his legs and straightens them out in front of him. "And we match too. Akira and Akemi."

Akemi peers at him in silence, her big blue eyes searching.  _ For what? _ Akira thinks.

"Mister..." she begins, "you said you're going to help me... Are you going to take me to Mommy?"

For answers. Answers he cannot give.

"She went to work today," Akemi continues, and he can see in her eyes that she's pleading for him to say something. "So, um, I had my babysitter today."

"Where's your Dad?" he asks instead.

"He... he left a while back." She frowns. "It's just Mommy and me... I hope she'll come home soon... Yuki was scaring me today..."

Akira falls quiet. He cannot take her by the hand and lead her to her mother, whose arms she must be longing to fall into. He cannot give her another chance to win gold medals until her neck hurts, or a few more days to finish that coloring book. He can only do what he is supposed to do. And he must.

"Am I going to see Mommy again?" Akemi's voice breaks. The playful light in her eyes is stamped out by fear. Tears spill down her cheeks and this time, when she tries to dry her eyes, she continues to overflow. "She's... she's coming back for me, right?"

"You will. She'll be back, I promise." Akira speaks soft and slow. "You just have to wait a while... Can you be patient?"

She shakes her head, frantic. "M-Mommy's been gone for too long now—hic—I've been here—hic—by myself... Some p-policemen took Yuki away but—hic—they left me here..."

"I promise you'll see her again." 

She lets out a cry that makes Akira's heart drop. "I want my—hic—Mommy..."

"I can tell you're a hardworking girl, Akemi..." He moves so that he's sitting back on his knees. "You've already been doing so much! I know it must take a lot of time. You must have needed to be patient so you could do good. I know you can do it. You'll see your Mommy again, and she'll be proud that you were able to be patient and wait for her."

Her breathing comes out in uneven stutters. She falls quiet.

"Can you stand up?"

She sniffles, then nods. She pushes herself to her feet, finally coming out of her space.

He takes both her hands in his and looks up at her. "See, look at you! You're so strong, and even though you were scared, you made it while you were by yourself, right? You were waiting all this time... I'm sorry. Can you wait a little longer?"

Her tears have started to slow. She nods once and pulls one hand away to wipe her eyes on the sleeve of her pajama shirt. She's wearing a matching set: pastel yellow with white cartoon bunnies on it. 

Akira wonders how she got it. Did her mother spot it first and dote on Akemi, telling her how cute she would look in it? Did Akemi happen upon it while her mother was shopping for clothes, and the little one pestered her until she succumbed to her begging? Or perhaps, did her mother come home from a long day of work with a shopping bag in tow just because she wanted to surprise her daughter?

He'll never know. But she will, and he hopes she always does.

"You're amazing." Akira ruffles the top of her dark brown locks. "You deserve a hug. Would you like that?"

At first, she doesn't answer. 

Eventually, a meek, "Yes, please."

So he does. With her tiny arms around his neck and his around her torso, he does.  _ No one can hold you now, _ he thinks.  _ No one you love ca _ n. Still, he rubs circles into her back, offering her as much comfort as a stranger can. 

Her breathing starts to even out until it's calm. Level. At as much peace as one could be at in a time like this.

He watches as her body becomes more and more translucent. That blue glow begins to dim and slowly, slowly, slowly...

"Rest well, Akemi," he whispers. "One day, you'll meet your mother again."

And Akira is only holding air now. The house falls silent.

He gets up and walks into the living room. He takes another look at the photos on the wall. This time, he takes notice of one with a bright-eyed woman in a sundress and red lipstick pressing a kiss to the cheek of a baby with the roundest face he’s ever seen.

His eyes linger there for a long while. 

And then he leaves.

* * *

Akira walks. He goes wherever his feet take him, and really, it's his feet that guide him. The rest of him is on autopilot, looking at the Tokyo scenery as he passes but not quite  _ seeing _ it. He knows it must be beautiful, especially in the gentle spring sunlight that somehow cannot melt away this cold he feels. He knows this city is a good one, and he loves it, if only for its mercy. He's lucky that Tokyo is his Domain, and not someplace that Death has made a playground of. There are bookstores in Tokyo where Death hasn't pulled a novel off a shelf to read the synopsis on the back. Cafes where Death's tongue hasn't been seared by a cup of coffee he was too impatient to let cool. Bars where there are no shot glasses covered in Death's fingerprints.

Death follows everyone. Akira follows Death.

Tokyo is forgiving for giving him a few places that lie off the beaten path. He knows this.

That doesn't stop Akemi from happening. There were people before her, whose names are slowly becoming lost on him like they're words spoken to him while he's submerged underwater. And Akira will live to see all the ones that come after her too.

He turns a street corner and wonders how many calories walking a mile burns. Maybe if he walked long enough, he'd lose a bit of this dreadful weight that has become an irrevocable part of his being. 

Akira is aware that that won't happen. At the very least, he would hope to at least shave an inch off of his waist. Or maybe not. Lavenza would likely lecture him on maintaining a healthy lifestyle like she did when she found out he hadn't slept for almost a week. That's what happens when he has to pass on a teenage boy that could have been him in another life, if he hadn't taken up his post. He could never tell her that.

He wonders when the last time he told anyone anything was. The employee outside a Chinese restaurant asking him if he wants a free sample goes unnoticed.

It's lunchtime, and if he's hungry, he doesn't notice that either.

He manages to notice the man walking out of the cafe at the same time Akira is passing by the door. Well, if you count "noticing" him as being aware of him only as they are colliding.

"Fuck," the man curses, and he thinks he meant to be quiet, but  _ boy _ did he say it loud and clear. His eye twitches when he sees that his sweater vest is covered in coffee (who wears a sweater vest in the spring?) and that the rest of his drink has become an abstract painting on the sidewalk.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry." Akira is fully expecting to get chewed out by this stranger on a random Tokyo sidewalk, considering how he looks like Akira just insulted him.

Instead, the man's expression is quick to melt into a calm that he's sure is hiding something.

"It's... not a problem," he says. Somehow his polite tone makes Akira even more uncomfortable than he would've been if he were getting yelled at instead. "It's a miracle it only got on my sweater, so I suppose that's a small victory."

"Uh, right." He rocks back and forth on his heels. What are you even supposed to say to a guy you indirectly spilled coffee all over? A guy that... is very easy on the eyes, now that he's actually looking. "I still feel bad about it though. I wasn't paying attention. Can I at least make it up somehow? Er, why don't I pay to get your sweater cleaned at the laundromat?"

The man stares at him, scrutinizing, and Akira prepares himself for the rejection. He's already having a bad day. It hasn't broken him yet, but he's feeling a little cracked. Let the humiliation shatter him. He'll just go back home, sleep, and never see him again anyway. 

"It would be convenient for me," he finally says, "though I admit I am suspicious of your intentions."

Was he staring? He must've been.

"No ulterior motives here," Akira answers. He raises his hands in surrender then drops them. "I just want to make up for it. Seriously."

"Well, then I can't turn you down." His shoulders relax a little. "This day hasn't been going in my favor, so I'll take full advantage of your wallet."

Ah. That makes two of them.

"Can I at least know the name of the guy whose sweater I'm tossing in the washing machine?"

"Goro Akechi." He extends a hand.

"The name's Akira Kurusu." He shakes Goro's hand, and the skin-to-skin contact is like the first raindrop to a plant after a long drought. The sudden want is so embarrassing that he wishes to shrivel up instead. At least he has it in him to break off the handshake within a socially acceptable time frame. "Now that introductions are out of the way, shall we head to the laundromat?"

"Please. This huge stain on my sweater is... unpleasant."

The walk to the laundromat is resigned to silence. Really, what is there to say? 

It's empty when they arrive. The moments of Goro slipping off his sweater and dumping it into the last washing machine and Akira fumbling around in his pockets for quarters to insert pass, and then there's only Akira, Goro, and the hum of machinery.

He wonders if he should start a conversation or not.

Goro decides for him; he takes a seat on the floor with his back against one of the empty washing machines. Akira watches with quiet curiosity as he opens up that leather messenger bag he'd been carrying around this entire time. He pulls out a notebook, a pen, and a textbook that looks so heavy that the thought of reading it gives Akira a dull headache. 

"You're a student?" Akira leans against the washing machine next to Goro, looking down at the now open textbook on his lap. The text is too small for him to read. It's a lot of words though.

"Yes. Aren't you?" Goro doesn't look up at him. "I mean, we look to be around the same age."

"I'm twenty," Akira answers the unspoken question, "but I'm not in university. I decided to go to work instead."

It was an understatement, but far from a lie.

"That's as noble a path as any." He scribbles down notes at a speed that makes Akira wonder if his hand hurts all the time. "Might I ask what you do?"

"Er... I help people with their problems."

"You're a therapist of sorts, then?"

"That's one way of putting it." He rubs the back of his neck. "What are you hoping to become?"

"I am unsure at the moment, but..." He looks up, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Someone great."

"I see. Before you do that, though, it looks like you'll have to get through—" He leans over and squints, trying to make out the words on the page. “—chemistry." 

Goro lets out a chuckle, tipping his head back against the washing machine. "Yes. Not my personal favorite, though I found it quite easy in high school. My university... not so much."

"Where do you happen to go, again?"

"The University of Tokyo." The words come out casual, perhaps even dismissive, as if said university isn't one of the highest-ranked in the entire country.

"Oh, wow. That's impressive."

"I suppose, yes." Goro chews on the tip of his pen. "There's a lot more to succeeding than going to a top university though."

"You're right. It seems a little trivial in the grand scheme of things." He hadn't meant to say the second part out loud because why would anyone say that to a university student?

Surprisingly, the boy hums in approval. "Yes, it's true. Education is flawed in a lot of ways but is often a necessary stepping stone. Few people are able to leap from high school to a career without it in between."

"Do you consider yourself to be one of those people?"

Goro closes his notebook even though only half a page has been filled. Then he closes the textbook and stacks them atop each other. "It's a little too late to determine that. I'm here, in university, so we'll have to hope it benefits me like it's advertised on the tin."

There’s a lapse in the conversation.

Akira sits down beside him. “I get what you mean though. I have a stable job right now, and I enjoy it and all. I guess I sometimes wonder about how things would be if I chose differently... If I could be more.”

“It’s quite the sinking feeling.”

“Yeah.”

He looks in front of him, at the bright yellow of the dryers, and runs his fingers along the circular patterns carved into the cold (and probably a bit grimy, but he’s going to ignore that since he’s sitting on them) floor tiles. He becomes aware of the narrowness of this space, how he and Goro can’t stretch their legs out fully, and the ceiling light that flickers every ten seconds or so.

For the first time today, he feels... at peace. Present.

The washing machine lets out a long buzz, and both of them get up at the same time.

“I’ll get it,” Akira declares first. He fishes the vest out then puts in the dryer, along with the change needed to operate it. He turns to Goro, whose eyes had followed him the entire time. “It looks like my job here is done.”

“Indeed.” Goro clears his throat and takes the opportunity to avert his gaze. “Thank you for paying. And though I usually don’t talk to strangers, you made for good company.”

“I don’t usually talk,” he says, half-joking and humorless, “but yeah. Not a bad way to wait for laundry to finish.”

He should say goodbye. He should walk out of the laundromat and disappear into the Tokyo blur. He should leave this alone. 

Instead, the next words that come out of his mouth aren’t a forever farewell. They’re this: “I helped with your sweater, but your coffee is still gone… Could I possibly buy you another cup sometime?”

“And here I thought you had no ulterior motives.” An amused smile dances at the edge of Goro’s mouth. “I’ll take you up on that offer. How’s Tuesday? Two pm, at the same coffee shop.”

“Sounds good.”

Akira says goodbye. He walks out of the laundromat, tries to will the grin forming on his face into disappearing, and finds he cannot. Really, he should’ve left this alone.

(He’s glad he didn’t.)

* * *

Akira’s place in The Middle is a square with gloomy gray siding and black shingles. He’s terribly fond of it, and that may or may not have a lot to do with the magical barrier Lavenza erected around it, making the space spirit-free and wholly his. The way he can’t open the front door fully without hitting one of the three counters making up his kitchen feels like home. The fat-leaved succulent on the little round dining table, enough to seat two, greets him every time he comes home. Too bad it’s dying.

Luckily, Lavenza is there to greet him too, occupying one of the seats with a bowl of katsudon that looks way too big for a girl her size. Another bowl has been placed at the empty chair, and it isn’t until Akira sees the steam wafting off of it that he realizes he’s hungry.

He sinks into the seat across from her.

“I take it that today’s job went well?” Lavenza inquires.

“I passed her on, if that’s what you’re asking.” And that’s as well as it can ever go. “Anyone new today?”

“As far as I can tell, no.” Her chin rests on the back of one of her hands, the other guiding rice to her mouth. “So it is an optimal time to pass on the rest here, no?”

Akira’s officially been Soul Keeper for five years, and he’s spent four of them losing sleep trying to understand this place’s logic. Not everybody needed Akira’s guidance to pass onto the Sea of Souls—most natural deaths went on their own. The ones he helped in the real world often moved on right then and there; others needed to stop in The Middle first. And even more, some were able to start the journey themselves but not quite make it, and these were the souls that he meets only in The Middle, not in Tokyo. There are some vague patterns he’s been able to discern about who ends up where, but somewhere along the way, he decided he wouldn’t sleep better at night even if he knew.

Perhaps that was part of the job: accepting it as it is. 

“Yeah,” he answers, looking down at his half-empty bowl gingerly. He thought he was starving.

“You seem tired. Have you not been sleeping well again?”

“I’ve been sleeping fine. You don’t have to worry about me too much.” He takes a small bite.

“It’s my duty to worry about you,” she reminds him. 

“You and your duty.” He pulls off his glasses and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“And you have yours.” Lavenza places her chopsticks on top of her bowl. “I know today’s must’ve been hard, so… I applaud you.”

“Thank you.” He slips the glasses back on.

“Though your gardening skills leave much to be desired.” Lavenza pulls the potted succulent towards herself. She squeezes one of the plump, yellowing leaves until a bit of water gushes from it. "You watered it too much, Soul Keeper. Succulents, by design, ask for very little. And you somehow gave it too much.”

“At least it lasted a few months?” 

She examines the plant closer. “Indeed. It was quite charming though…”

“Lavenza? I hate to interrupt your intense staring contest with that dying plant, but I have to ask you something.”

She looks up, golden eyes curious. “Yes?”

“Uh, so…” He’s feeling nervous. Why is he nervous? “I met someone today. Who might be a friend.”

“I see.” She pauses, trying to formulate a response. “Though Igor and us attendants have always warned against… human entanglements, it is always inevitable that the Soul Keeper begins to wish for them. It is okay, if approval is what you are seeking from me. Just as long as there are only a few, and it does not—“

“Interfere with my duty?” He rolls his eyes; however, it can’t disguise the fondness of his voice. “I know, Lavenza.”

“Yes, you do.” Lavenza drums her gloved fingers against the table. “It is important to know. Humans with the ability to be the Soul Keeper only appear every few centuries. You are a rarity. That is why we must train you to work until the next one arrives.”

He only looks at her in silence.

“It is remarkable, really,” she continues. “We force you to give up the memories of your human life and prevent your loved ones from being able to recognize you, and still, we cannot strip you of your humanity. I suppose that’s what makes humans the only ones for this job.” 

Lavenza meets his eyes, and all the tough love in the world is packed into her in that moment. “You understand though, yes? You can have these attachments, but be careful you do not become too attached.”

“I do.”

“And you know of your longevity, in comparison to normal humans?”

“I do.”

“I knew you would.” She gets up from her chair and takes her bowl to the sink before heading to the front door. “I will be leaving now. Do not forget to do the dishes.”

In the silence, Akira is left to ruminate on today’s events. Eventually, his mind drifts to his meeting with Goro two days from now, and he finds the strength to finish his food.

He doesn’t do the dishes.

Instead, he opts for the futon on the other side of the room that hasn’t been made in weeks. He doesn’t count sheep. He counts white rabbits with cartoon faces and perfectly round cotton tails and the number of revolutions a washing machine does in one cycle.

All things considered, he sleeps… alright.

* * *

When Akira enters LeBlanc, the barista, a man that looks like he could've been his father, gives him a short nod of acknowledgment. The shop is small and only a seat at the bar and two tables are occupied. Goro is sitting at the one in the very back; Akira glances at his phone to make sure he isn't late. He's actually right on time. In hindsight, he should've guessed Goro was the type of guy to show up ten minutes early.

He slides into the spot across from him. 

"Right on time," Goro remarks. "I guess you aren't that scatterbrained all the time."

"Careful. I might find a way to spill your coffee again," Akira retorts. "Don't want to ruin another one of your sweater vests."

"I would hope not. This blue one is my favorite." He covers his mouth as he lets out a short yawn. "Apologies. I was up studying until three last night, and then I had a two hour lecture before this..."

"Four? You must be really tired." He leans forward to rest his arms on the table. "I'm guessing the class must be hard, then."

"Relatively so. The professor is quite well-known for his research, so I was hoping to impress him so I could perhaps work with him. Though it seems he already has his eye on one of my classmates, and I'm not sure why, since he's always playing games on his laptop during lectures. I don't see what's so special about him." The mild insult rolls off of Goro's tongue so easily it surprises Akira.

"Ah, Akechi." The barista is now standing at their table. "And you brought a friend with you today. Hoo boy, that's a new one."

"I had to bring him to the best coffee shop in the area." Goro shoots him a smile that could charm the devil.

"Nice try. You're not getting free drinks." (Or not.) The man looks to Akira. "The name's Sojiro Sakura, but most call me Boss. I own the place."

"Akira Kurusu," he introduces himself. "Nice to meet you."

"The pleasure's all mine. So, then, what can I get you two?"

"A black coffee," Goro answers.

"I'll have a matcha latte."

"Coming right up." Sojiro returns to the bar, which leaves Goro to continue ripping his classmate apart and Akira to nod along.

Except he doesn't. Instead, he asks, "How are you, Kurusu?"

"I'm fine," he says, too easily. "Work's been... busy lately. I've had to help a lot of people, and it's pretty exhausting, listening to people talk about their problems."

Immediately, he's flooded with guilt. How could he say that?

Goro gives him a crooked smile. "Then I hope you aren't exhausted by me."

"No, no," Akira frets, waving his hands, suddenly afraid of losing his grip on whatever this is. "I'm definitely not. You're different anyways."

"Oh?"

"With you, I'm actually allowed to talk about myself." He laughs. As if it's something to laugh about. "And you, well, you're listening to me. So you can complain all you want."

Soon, Sojiro brings out their coffee. They drink slowly, using "not yet empty" as an excuse to stay longer. When their cups are empty, they stay anyway. Eventually, it's time to part ways, and Akira doesn't forget their arrangement. He leaves enough to pay for both of their drinks plus a little extra as a tip. 

Maybe it's something in the air.

The coffee just tasted so damn good.

* * *

"You're here," the girl murmurs as Akira settles beside her on the fallen log. 

"And you're here again." He looks out at the empty forest clearing. "It's a nice spot. It's... peaceful."

"You don't think the rest of his place is peaceful?"

He shakes his head. "That's not it. It is, but sometimes the rivers get a bit loud. And talking to people in the middle of the woods is claustrophobic."

"Yeah..." She reaches down and plucks a mushroom—white, with a flat top—growing in the ground. "No one has come around here yet. I'm surprised you found me the other day."

He shrugs, stretching his arms over his head. "It's like a sixth sense. Comes with the job."

"Do these grow here often?" She turns the mushroom in her hands.

"They do. Every single season, no matter the weather. It's probably just part of this place," Akira explains. "I've seen a couple of fairy rings."

"It's like this forest constantly feels the need to remind you that you're somewhere strange." She places the mushroom back on the ground. "I doubt you want to hear this small talk."

"It's fine, Suzui." Akira's eyes drift to her hands, balled into fists in her lap. "You're here because you need time."

"Please, call me Shiho." She gives him a smile that doesn't quite reach her deep brown eyes. "You've certainly earned it after sitting with me day after day, even when I wouldn't talk at all."

"And look where you are now," he points out. "How're you feeling?"

"More aware, I think." She smooths her skirt. "I was confused and scared at first, but being here has given me a lot of time to process... everything, I guess. This place forces you to think."

He scoffs. "You can say that again."

"I mean, I... I don't know." Her fingers squeeze around the fabric of her skirt. "I'm still trying to... cope with everything. My head is just clearer somehow."

"That's good. Are you sure that's all?" Her eyes are downcast now. "You look like you have a lot on your mind."

"I miss her." The sentence comes out shaky and barely inaudible, yet somehow Akira feels as if he heard her crystal clear. Like she means the words so much that she's screaming.

"Her?" Now he's speaking quietly too, some part of him afraid he's trespassing on sacred ground.

They sit in silence for a few minutes before Shiho says, "My fiancee."

A beat.

"Her name is Ann," she says, the words tumbling out of her and falling, falling, falling until her voice breaks on the ground when she utters the name. "She was always with me. She held my hand as I sat in the waiting room before my first appointment with my therapist. And in the ambulance after I tore a muscle during a volleyball game. And after rehab. She was always with me, and I left her."

"It wasn't your fault." He reaches for her hand and pulls it back when she winces. "Sorry. Thought it might help." 

"I don't really like physical contact with strangers," she tells him, her shoulders tensing. "It's enough that you sit and listen. I'm sorry, I hope that's not a problem."

"Of course not. I'm here for support, so if you need me to only listen, that's fine." At this, she relaxes again. "By all means, continue. If you want."

She wipes at her eyes. "I know it's not my fault at all. I mean, how could it be? I guess I just feel like I've somehow abandoned her and the life we had ahead of us. Her modeling career was finally taking off too, and I was on the way from work to meet after her to celebrate her first cover, and that... That was when..." 

Shiho's chest heaves and stutters as she hunches over, covering her face, letting out sob after sob. 

"Let it all out." Akira swallows the lump in his throat. "You're doing good, Shiho."

He sits in silence and waits for her.

"Everybody... everybody loves her," Shiho manages, inhaling deeply. She's sitting up straight again. "Ann. She's a kindhearted s-soul. She... she helps everybody too much."

She turns to him and sniffles. "I think that you would have loved her too."

He stares out towards someplace beyond this clearing and the tree line and the white water river noise. He can't explain this ache in his chest, this palpable emptiness that longs so badly to be filled by nostalgia for someone he's never known. 

He finds that now he is the one who has to take a few moments before he can speak again.

Finally, after he's realized he can't see past the trees, Akira meets her puffy eyes.

In his most earnest voice, he says, "I think so too."

* * *

Jazz Jin is a hole-in-the-wall establishment where Goro looks right at home, one leg slung over the other as he sips on a bright purple mocktail with a lemon wedge. This time, he didn't choose a table way in the back, rather, one closer to the middle. Here, they have a good view of the current performer. However, her sparkly black gown would be hard to miss from anywhere. 

He taps his foot to the beat. Akira takes notice.

"Didn't peg you as the musical type," he says.

"I was raised in a musical household." Goro takes a sip from his drink. "My mother sang all the time. And instead of traditional lullabies, she'd sing Lyn Inaizumi songs. She had a wonderful voice, even if being able to hear in the kitchen while I was all the way in the bedroom got a bit annoying."

"Does singing run in the family?"

"She put me in vocal lessons when I was young, and I took them for several years. I don't quite remember why I stopped." Goro smirks at him. "What, you want me to sing for you?"

"Well, since you're so eager to offer..." Translation: yes, yes he would.

"In your dreams."

"You wish." Akira sticks his tongue out and receives an eye roll in return. "I'm guessing you frequent this place."

Goro nods. "You could call it my go-to place. All the performers here are lovely, and I think I've tried just about everything on the menu." He picks up his glass and swirls the liquid in it. "It reminds me of home, I suppose. Do you have a go-to place?"

"I wouldn't say so," he replies. "I dunno. I try and go to new places all the time, but I like big places. Open ones that let you move around a lot. I stay outdoors a lot."

"I see. Since I've taken you to my favorite place, it's only fair that you show me some of yours. Deal?"

"It sounds like you're making excuses to hang out with me more."

"And seeing that you’ve agreed to meet with me twice after our first meeting, you're quite eager to offer." 

Well. Akira has no witty comeback for that one.

The performer begins another song; this one is slower and calmer than the last one.

Goro smiles as he watches the performer. "This one was a favorite of my mother's. And mine."

"It's good that you have so many memories of your family." Goro's eyes are trained on the singer while Akira looks at him, somewhere between affection and jealousy.

His smile dissolves into a frown and narrowed eyes. "I do have some good ones. Only of my mother. And they're just that—memories. She's long gone now, Kurusu."

"And my memories of my father," he continues sharply, "aren't worth having."

"I'm sorry," the apology slips out of him naturally. "It was a pretty thoughtless comment of me to say without knowing anything. You're right. You must have painful memories you have to keep too."

(They were still more than Akira had and could ever hope to have.)

"I'm sorry as well." Goro looks down at the table then back up at him with a neutral expression. Yet Akira swears he isn't imagining the bitterness that undercuts his words. "I shouldn't have said all of that, but you seem to have this... effect on me. And you make a living off of people spilling their guts to you. I wonder what it's like to have such... power over everyone you meet."

_ Oh _ , Akechi, he thinks.  _ It goes both ways _ .

If only he could say that.

* * *

The red checkerboard picnic blanket is soft beneath Akira's back. He rolls over onto his side and looks up at Goro, who's flipping the page of a worn-edge paperback. At the edge of the blanket rests his neatly folded sweater vest, leaving his torso occupied only by a thin white dress shirt. He's left the top two buttons undone, and the edge of his collarbone that peeks out from the fabric is enough to drive Akira's heartbeat to the edge of what is probably healthy.

He gives Goro's knee a light slap. "Hey. I thought I brought you here to hang out with me."

He lowers the book. "I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do when you've been lying there for the past thirty minutes."

"Lie down with me, duh." Akira props himself up on one elbow. "Are you scared of a little dirt or something? There's a blanket."

"I prefer not to. I'm quite engrossed in this book."

"Do you read a lot?"

"I used to." He closes the book. "It's taken a backseat to school, so this is the first time in a while. This park seems like an ideal reading spot."

He lies on his back again, staring up at the cheerful blue sky and the clouds lazing by. "Yeah. It's always so peaceful here. That's why I like it so much. I would nap here all day if there weren't people around."

Akira points up at the sky. "That cloud looks like a microphone. Maybe it's a sign you should sing."

Goro looks up, incredulous. "Where?"

"Maybe it's the angle," he insists. "You can see if you lie down."

He tosses his book to the side and lies down. "That looks nothing like a microphone."

"Sure, but now you're down here, with me." Akira turns his head to the side to look at him, and they're looking at each other now, and it reminds him of a shot from a teen movie he once watched 

"I can't believe I fell for that." Goro looks back up. "It does look nice today."

"Right? It's a really relaxing sight, especially since today was... Rough," he agrees, even while his head is still turned to the brunette.

"Is that so? I hope you're taking care of yourself. What do you do on your downtime, anyways?"

"Uh," he pauses to yawn, "Sleep, I guess. Watch videos. Spend time here."

"Sounds like you need another hobby to relax you," Goro suggests, and it's ironic in a way, but Akira is too tired to figure out how.

"I would like to take up gardening, I think." He finds his eyes becoming heavier and heavier. "Like, I would have something to take care of."

"Gardening, hm... I can imagine that. What type of plants are you looking for?"

"I haven't given it much thought." Akira decides on keeping his eyes closed. "Vegetables, maybe. And flowers. I'd want to have a big garden. Maybe a few indoor ones..."

"Seems wonderful." He can imagine Goro smiling at that. "I don't know why I can't help imagining you killing all of them."

"I probably would." Goro says something after that, but Akira doesn't catch it before he dozes off.

When he opens his eyes again, he isn't sure how much time has passed. As he fully regains his awareness, he hears children laughing and a dog barking in the distance. The sky is too bright for his groggy eyes to look at, so he shifts onto his side.

He comes face to face with a sleeping Goro with a slightly parted mouth and a thin line of drool trailing from his mouth. Some of his hair has fallen onto his cheek.

Gently, Akira tucks the hair back behind his ear.

_ Damn _ , he thinks, smiling sadly.

* * *

Akira's made a habit of visiting cemeteries at the end of the week. He doesn't know exactly why he does it, why he chooses to come to a place surrounded by death when he already lives in one. Maybe... it's to remind himself. Of what, he doesn't know that either.

There's a lone woman there, sitting in front of a grave with a cigarette in one hand and the other hugging her knees. Mascara stains her face.

Before he knows it, he's standing beside her and holding out his handkerchief.

She takes it from him. "Thank you," she murmurs.

While she's wiping her face, he takes the time to read the name engraved in the stone.

_ Akemi Watanabe. _

He bites his lip. Slowly, he sinks to the ground and finds himself sitting beside her.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Everybody is." She places the handkerchief on the ground between them. "Can't go anywhere without someone looking at me with pity. Is that why you're sitting here, too?"

He shakes his head. "You look like you needed the company."

She takes a drag of her cigarette.

"Who was she?" He looks forward at the grave as if it will give him those answers.

"My daughter." She rests her chin upon her knees. "She was only eight. She was my entire world."

"What was she like? If you don't mind me asking," he adds.

"Brilliant." She laughs. "I'm just an office worker. I knew she could be so much more than I am. I always told her it was hard for me to keep up with her energy. And her stubbornness."

"She seemed like a pretty headstrong girl."

"Oh, yeah. You can say that again." She smiles. "Didn't change the fact that she was still a kid. She always woke up early for the morning cartoons on the weekends and hadn't learned to eat her vegetables yet."

"Honestly, though, she makes me feel like the kid sometimes." She holds up her cigarette. "She always nagged me about smoking because she hated the smell, so I stopped for her."

"Then why are you back on it now?"

Some loose strands from her ponytail are obscuring her face as she smiles at him bitterly. "I don't know. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"Does it make you feel better?"

"I don't know." She looks away. "It's something to focus on. Makes me forget I didn't protect the one person I wanted to for a bit. It doesn't change the fact that it happened."

A pause.

"What about you?" she asks. "Is there someone you love here?"

"No," he says, and it's true, and it's somehow sadder than a yes.

"You're lucky, then."

"Not really." He feels his eyes well up with tears, and he doesn't know why. He doesn't  _ ever  _ know why. He fucking hates it. "I don't... have anyone anyways."

It's not true. He needs it to be.

She offers him the handkerchief, her cigarette hanging out of her mouth.

Akira turns the other cheek.

"I'm fine." He blinks the tears away. "It's allergies and stuff."

"Well, then." She takes a deep breath. "I hope you find someone someday, then. And that you don't have to bury them for a very long time."

* * *

When Goro opens the door to his apartment, tears are flowing from his sunken eyes.

"Akechi?" Akira hadn't known what to expect after receiving a text of his address and two simple words.

_ come. please. _

The boy doesn't say anything. He steps to the side to let Akira in and then closes the door. 

"Akechi," Akira says again, softer this time. "Are you okay?"

"Don't." He tries to sound intimidating. Akira doesn't back down, not when his voice is shaking. "Don't say anything, please."

"Okay." 

So Akira just... watches Goro cry in front of him, furiously wiping at his eyes.

"What can I do for you?" He takes a step forward towards him.

The brunette's head jerks to the side, refusing to meet his concerned gaze.

"Shut up."

Akira does. 

Still, he can’t bear to simply stand there. He steps close enough to wrap his arms around the taller boy, who lets out a surprised noise but doesn't fight back. Instead, Goro's arms wind around his back. Without meaning to, his heart skips a beat.

_ Now's not the fucking time _ .

He runs a hand through his hair as the brunette releases a series of muffled sobs into his shoulder. He's trembling hard. Akira wishes he could calm him. He can't. He can only continue to hold him and hope Goro knows he isn't going anywhere. And yet, it doesn't feel like it's enough.

At some point in time, they both sunken to their knees, still holding onto each other.

Akira is thankful Goro is buried in his shoulder and can't see him biting back tears. 

He had hoped he would've gotten to see this apartment under different, happier circumstances. It'd be to watch a movie or something, and beforehand, Goro would give him a house tour and receive annoying comments about every single thing he owned. They'd order takeout, or maybe Goro would cook. Akira doesn't know if he knows how to cook because he hasn't been given a chance to know.

Eventually, Goro makes a weak attempt to push him away, and Akira relents.

"Do you want to talk?" He reaches out again and holds onto his arms, rubbing circles into the skin.

"No." He won't look him in the eye.

"That's okay."

"I'm sorry. I'm a fucking mess." The words come out bitter. "I didn't know who else to turn to, so I texted you. I couldn't even call."

He shakes his head before continuing, "I didn't want you seeing me like this. I guess you did anyway."

"Why?"  _ Why don't you trust me? _

"I don't think anyone wants to be seen like this." Goro tugs at one of Akira's hands. "Let go."

He doesn't want to. He does anyway.

"I must look awful." He rubs his face. "Not to mention, stupid."

"What? No, of course not." Akira's hands curl into fists in his laps. "Why would you say that?"

Goro laughs. "Because I'm here, crying my eyes out, and you're totally fine."

He opens his mouth to respond. The words get lost in his throat; he forgets what he was going to say in the first place.

"It's like nothing fazes you." He shakes his head. "You're completely calm all the time, and you make everyone willing to fall apart in front of you. I don't understand it."

"Akechi..."

"Oh well, right?" He takes a deep breath. "Okay. You can go now."

"Really?" Akira watches as he climbs to his feet. "Is that what you want me to do?"

"Yes," he snaps, the frustration taking the other boy by surprise. "I'm fine now."

"Oh. Okay."

In silence, Goro opens the door for him.

In silence, Akira walks out.

He lingers outside the door for several long moments, hesitating.

Ultimately, he walks away.

* * *

“How did you know that you were falling in love with her?”

“Hm…” Shiho looks over at him, questioning. She doesn’t make any attempt to verbalize her curiosity. He’s all the more thankful for it. “I don’t know if you can tell until you’ve already fallen. At least, that’s how it was for me. Though I think everyone has a moment when they realize they are.”

“What was that for you?” Akira looks out at the clearing. The sun is barely up.

“It happened while I was taking photos of her.”

“Taking photos?”

“Oh, yeah. I never mentioned it, but I was a photographer,” Shiho explains. “It’s how we met. This wasn’t for a shoot; it was after she had a bad experience with a magazine. The modeling industry can be  _ so _ toxic. To cheer up, I took her out and took photos of her however she wanted.”

“Afterwards, we were sitting in the mall food court and I looked through the photos on my camera. I accidentally blurted out that she was beautiful. I was so embarrassed!” She giggles. “Then she broke out into this big smile. She was wearing her hair down that day. And  _ that _ was the most beautiful thing I think I’ve ever seen, in all my years of photographing. I thought about how I wanted to keep her smiling like that, always. That’s kind of how I realized that I loved her.”

The smile on her face says it all.

“That’s an amazing story,” Akira says, finding himself smiling too. 

“Have you ever been in love?”

“Oh, no.” He brushes off the notion before it can take root in him and start to grow. “I don’t even know how I could with—“ he looks around the clearing, “—all this.”

“Do you wish you could?”

“I don’t know.” He quickly shuts out the image of a certain brunette, who planted himself in Akira outside Leblanc and has only been growing into every crack and crevice of his brain. “I’m… I’m going to live for a very long time. People don’t.”

_ He won’t. _

“Do you regret it?” He turns to her, searching for answers. 

“I don’t know.” This time, when she laughs, it’s a sad one. “What I had with Ann made me so happy. But I’ve caused her so much pain now.”

“I wish I could go and comfort her,” she confesses. “I don’t even know what’d I say. Sorry? For my own death? I don’t know. She was there for me when I was hurting, and now, she must be hurting. And I can’t even be there. And it’s because of me.”

“Not because of you.” He looks down at his hands. “It’s not your fault some asshole decided to drive while he was super drunk.”

“Yeah.” She touches a hand to her face and realizes she’s been crying. “Still, I can’t shake this guilt that I let her love me and then left her.”

“You’re talking.” Akira musters up his most gentle smile. “That’s good.”

Quiet falls over them.

“What kinds of photos do you like taking?”

“I do portraits, mostly.” She sniffles. “I like making other people look as beautiful as they can be. I was going to start doing travel photography too, before… You know.”

“Actually,” she leans towards him, taking a closer look at his face, “you look like someone I would have liked to take photos of.”

“Really?”

She nods. “I don’t know, there’s something about you. Or maybe I would’ve drawn you instead.”

“You also draw?”

“Yeah. I was always really artsy growing up.” Shiho smiles. “Even if I don’t seem like it.”

“What’s an artist supposed to look like?”

She shrugs. “I’ve always imagined them as being intelligent. Charismatic, too.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re not either of those things though.”

“You flatter me, Kurusu. I wouldn’t really consider myself an artist. It’s just always been a good stress reliever. I was lucky, being able to turn it into a sustainable career.”

“You sound like you had lots of happiness in your life.”

A beat.

“Yeah,” Shiho replies, with a confidence Akira has never seen from her before. “I did.”

* * *

Akira senses that a new spirit’s arrived in The Middle as soon as he wakes up. He throws on some clean clothes and sneakers and heads out. 

On the walk towards the entrance, located at the edge of the forest, he rehearses what he’s going to say in his head. He’s given the good old exposition dump speech hundreds of times now, and over the years, he’s fine-tuned it to the point where he doesn’t rattle ninety percent of the souls he greets. Of course, he has to make some adjustments based on the individual. Some arrive sobbing and shaking, and others are only mildly confused. 

He likes to think he’s doing a good job.

There’s a break in his thought process as he inches nearer to the edge.

This soul feels…  _ familiar _ .

He isn’t even fully done mentally articulating the thought before he breaks into a sprint,

_ No.  _

_ No, no, no, no. _

His mind is screaming the word every time he propels himself forward.

_ It can’t be. _

The silhouette finally comes into view, his back to Akira.

_ Please. _

Akira comes to a halt.

The spirit turns around, and his heart drops.

He feels like he’s looking his worst fear right in the face.

“Akechi?”

**Author's Note:**

> i thought it would be an interesting story to tell in light of everything and the existential anxiety many of us are surely feeling. i also wrote this in part bc i’m starting my freshman year of college soon—goro has quickly become a special character to me bc i see so much of myself in his desire to be “special” and his rage/jealousy towards akira since i myself share so many of those feelings. i don’t wanna brag but i’m privileged enough to be able to attend one of the most prestigious universities in the country. though i know i should be happy, at the same time i feel like it isn’t enough. we love projecting 
> 
> this was a challenging group of scenes 2 write and trying to create the dichotomy of life/death that i wanted to have to reflect the title was an experience =) as a result this took a very long time to finish, so i just ask that u be patient w me <3 akira esp has been a journey to write. he suffers in such a quiet way that it makes even me sad and i wrote it.
> 
> twt - goblingoro (rip i just made this. we will see if i use it or not)  
> tumblr - lovelyghouls  
> [world issues carrd bc educate urself <3](https://issuesintheworld.carrd.co/)


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